Gospel Story Finder

The late Elder Matthew Cowley, who was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, once recounted the Saturday afternoon experience of a grandfather as hand in hand he took his small granddaughter on a birthday visit—not to the zoo or to the movies but to the temple grounds. With permission of the groundskeeper, the two walked to the large doors of the temple. He suggested that she place her hand on the sturdy wall and then on the massive door. Tenderly he then said to her, “Remember that this day you touched the temple. One day you will go inside.” His gift to the little one was not candy or ice cream but an experience far more significant and everlasting—an appreciation of the house of the Lord. She had touched the temple, and the temple had touched her.

This principle was made clear in a story told by David O. McKay at a Relief Society general conference meeting in 1947. He related the testimony of one of the survivors of the ill-fated Martin Handcart Company. A man was speaking to a group of people and questioning the wisdom of the Church leaders in letting a group of converts cross the plains with no more protection than handcarts could afford. A man in the audience stood up and said, “I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about.” He stated that he was a survivor of that company. He said,

We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church, because everyone of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our extremities. [David O. McKay, “Pioneer Women,” Relief Society Magazine, January 1948, p. 8]

Thus we see that the fruits of enduring in the Lord is the miracle of testimony, and testimony helps us to endure to the end.

The COVID-19 pandemic has drastically changed the way we live our daily lives. The virus has disrupted all sectors of society and its impact has also been felt in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Missionary service is one of the areas that has been significantly affected. On March 12, 2020, the leadership of the Church issued a statement requiring all senior missionaries and young missionaries with serious or chronic medical conditions serving in twenty-two areas in Europe to return home. Elder Michael Coley was among the many missionaries who had to leave.
Elder Coley had been called to labour in the England London Mission on August 6, 2019. It had been anticipated that he would serve for two years. Elder Coley was often told that his mission would be over before he knew it and that he should treasure every moment. However, he never imagined it would be over that soon.
He began his life-changing missionary journey on January 8, 2020, trying to embody Christlike attributes as he prepared to serve the people of England. He experienced much personal growth and greater generosity and humanity towards those he met.
Elder Coley could not fathom leaving his mission at that specific time just when he was forgetting himself and doing the Lord’s work. At the time, he dreaded going back into the world and being exposed once again to all the vileness of it. Elder Coley confided that when he expressed this to his missionary companion, he was told that the only person that can control how much of the world he indulges in is him. For Elder Coley that is a message that he would never forget.
On March 16, he departed London’s Heathrow Airport and began the long journey back to Jamaica. The journey home was stressful to him, especially due to the different avenues of travel he had to endure. The original travel plan included a flight from the United Kingdom to the United States and then to Jamaica. However, the United States had closed its borders to noncitizens. As a result, Elder Coley travelled to Mexico, then to the Dominican Republic followed by Turks and Caicos. On March 17, he finally arrived in Jamaica.
Even though he knew that he would be quarantined for 14 days, it was a relief to be home. This experience taught Elder Coley to be more optimistic and to trust Heavenly Father more. He came to realise that when we do the Lord’s work to the best of our ability, He helps tremendously.
When asked to share his thoughts on what has been happening in the world, Elder Coley said, “In these difficult time,s the only person that can control how this pandemic is viewed is you. You can either let this difficult time strengthen your testimony in God or weaken it. Let us enjoy each moment here on earth doing the Lord’s work and being with our families. We do not know fully what the Lord has planned for each of us. I know however, that God loves His children and enables them to go through experiences to learn from them and to evolve into better versions of themselves.”
This message of hope and steadfastness is one which Elder Coley wishes that everyone will be able to embrace during this time of uncertainty and turmoil.

I had to see the temple! I just had to see the temple, I thought as the bus rolled along the Washington beltway.
It was a long ride from our home in Pennsylvania to the National Girl Scout Camp in Maryland. There were about 20 girls in the bus with me, some I’d been friends with for years. Together we went to school, camped, served, and goofed off. So much of my life had been within this circle of friends, yet I felt a little different from them. A year ago I’d been baptized, and I’d changed. I was 15 years old and I knew things, really important things, that I wanted to share with these friends.
I looked out the window, and my thoughts turned to the temple. I’d never seen one before, but I’d heard how spectacular the Washington, D.C., temple is as it suddenly appears before you on the beltway. I wondered if we would see it tonight. I hoped we would pass by, and concentrated on looking for it.
I frantically searched the landscape beyond the traffic for the temple’s white spires. With every passing mile I felt my chances becoming slimmer. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on something else.
“What is it?” someone shouted.
“It’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen!”
Crowded against the windows on the other side of the bus, all 20 girls strained to see the temple towering above the highway.
“It’s the temple,” I explained to the girls nearest me.
“How do you know?” “Who’s that on top?” “Who would build something so big?” they continued. I answered their questions with excitement.
What seemed like a vision that only lasted a few seconds gave me the chance to give answers that could last forever. Since then I’ve had many opportunities to enter temples, and each time I see the temple’s spires I’m reminded that I am different, and I still know things, really important things, that I want to share with my friends.

Weeks later their farm sold, and her family joined several others in a small wagon train. With Brother Brigham leading the way, they started on their journey to Kirtland.
The wagons traveled slowly, and baby Anna got sick. Just when Mary Ann thought that they’d never get to Kirtland, Brother Reed ran alongside their wagon. “Kirtland’s just around the bend!”
The people urged their tired oxen on. Mary Ann bounced up and down on the wagon seat. Then she jumped down and ran ahead with the other children. As she turned the corner in the road, her heart sank. Where were all the beautiful buildings? Where was the temple Brother Reed had talked about? Kirtland was just a raw frontier town.
She plodded back to her parents. “I don’t like Kirtland,” she told them. “It’s ugly.”
Her mother smiled at her. “It’s just not finished yet. It’ll be beautiful some day. We’ll help to make it so.”
Brother Reed came and took Mary Ann by the hand. “Come with me.” He took her along a dirt road past a store and around the corner to the edge of a field. “This is where we will build the house of the Lord. When it is finished, it will be shiny and white and wonderful! It will be a fit place for the Lord.”
Mary Ann felt that sweet feeling she now recognized as the Holy Ghost. Maybe things weren’t what she expected, and maybe it would be hard to build a home again, but she knew that her family was doing what was right.
She looked at the field. It might be a long time before the temple was built, but it would be a temple of the Lord!

Let me give you an example. Recently I asked Elder William W. Parmley about his memories of his mother, LaVern Parmley, who served as the Primary general president for 23 years. He didn’t refer to her talks at conferences or the many programs she implemented. He spoke of one of his sweetest moments when he was 17 and preparing to go away to college. He remembered sitting with his mother as she taught him how to sew on a button. With children of all ages, small and simple acts have lasting impact.

Inspired by a New Era article, “An Author Card for Cindie” (May ’81), Bradley Jenkins of Monte Sereno, California, chose to document the tombstone inscriptions of the Madronia Cemetery as his Eagle project.
Bradley organized the efforts of 33 other people to help in carrying out his project. He organized groups to record the epitaphs on each stone. He then enlisted the help of a computer to organize the names alphabetically. Upon completing his project, Bradley donated copies of his book-length report to local libraries and historical societies as well as to the cemetery and to the Genealogical Library in Salt Lake City.

We have a great example of obedience in Church history. Reddick Allred was a stalwart member of the Church, having worked on the Nauvoo Temple, marched with the Mormon Battalion, and emigrated with the Saints to the Salt Lake Valley. Of even greater interest perhaps to this audience is his mission to Hawaii, which he served from 1852 to 1855. During part of that mission he was President of the Maui Conference. But it was just after his return from that mission, in October of 1856, that Reddick Allred etched his name among the heros of the western migration.

The handcart pioneers are part of our Church heritage. We know the stories of their faith, their courage and their great suffering. We also know of the great faith and courage of the rescuers in the Fall of 1856 who went to their aid. Reddick Allred was among those who responded to the call from Brigham Young to "Go and bring in the people now on the plains." It is important to note, and difficult to appreciate in our day of cell phones and instant communication, that when Brigham Young issued that call, he had no good information about the Willie and Martin handcart companies that were in distress. So when the rescue teams left Salt Lake, they had no idea where they were going or how many people they would need to assist.

But they went anyway. Reddick Allred was among the express team of 27 men and 16 wagons that raced ahead of the main rescue party. They averaged close to 30 miles a day through deep snow and bitter cold. On Oct 18th, eleven days after leaving the valley, the express team decided to establish a relief station near South Pass. Captain Grant, leader of the express team, assigned Reddick to take charge of the station and a few men. It was an unenviable task. South Pass is a high, treeless plain at the crest of the continent lashed by a bitter wind in the winter. And only one day after leaving Salt Lake, Reddick contracted pleurisy, an inflammation of the lungs that makes it difficult and painful to breathe. The only treatment for pleurisy was bed rest, but it would be some time before Reddick got to lie in his own bed again.

A few days after the express team continued on they encountered the Willie company. They sent word to Brother Allred and his men who hurried east and were able to deliver life-saving food and equipment to the struggling group soon after their terrible climb up Rocky Ridge. Allred and his men saw the Willie company and their rescuers on their way to the valley and returned to await word of the Martin company at the relief station. For three cold and tedious weeks full of doubt and uncertainty, they waited. At one point, two of the men decided that the Martin company was either lost or had camped for the winter. They decided to return to Salt Lake and tried to persuade Allred to return with them.

Reddick Allred refused to budge. Brigham Young had sent them out, his priesthood leader had assigned him this post, and he would remain until released. The other men left him and returned, tragically turning other relief wagons around as they met them. But Reddick remained. On November 18, his faith and obedience were vindicated when the rescuers arrived with the Martin company. Captain Grant was so happy to see Reddick that he greeted him with a cheer, "Hurrah for the Bulldog. Good for hanging on." Reddick Allred had plenty of reasons for leaving his post; the cold, the uncertainty, his own ill health. But he had one good reason to stay; his faith in his leaders and desire to be obedient.

In the April 1997 General Conference, President Eyring paid tribute to Allred:
"Those with the faith of Reddick Newton Allred will ... feel the same divine approval [he] felt when he saw those handcart pioneers struggling toward him, knowing he could offer them safety because he had followed counsel when it was hard to do.
"While the record does not prove it, I am confident that Brother Allred prayed while he waited. I am confident that his prayers were answered. He then knew that the counsel to stand fast was from God. We must pray to know that. I promise you answers to such prayers of faith." (Henry B. Eyring, "Finding Safety in Counsel," April 1997, Saturday Afternoon Session, 167th Annual General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints)
I too pay tribute to Reddick Allred. My great great grandmother's sister, Elizabeth Green, was an 18-year-old member of the Martin Company that he helped to rescue. She continued her journey to the Salt Lake Valley where she later married, raised a family of nine children and died at the age of 78.

It was a beautiful summer day in northern Alberta, Canada. I was 16 years old, and my dad had set me up with a great summer job at a goat farm. Every day I made the half-hour drive in his old pickup along the obscure, bumpy dirt roads that I doubt were on any map. I loved these drives as I cruised in silence due to the broken radio. The northern landscape is beautiful in the summer. There are forests, fields, and lakes that are virtually untouched by man. At times I would look around and feel like I was the only one around for miles and that all this was made just for me.
On one of these drives home after a long day of herding goats and fixing fences, my peaceful drive suddenly turned into a nightmare. It had rained the day before, and the familiar dirt roads had turned into washboard roads. I hit a few patches of consecutive bumps that shook my old truck around pretty good, and I knew I had to slow down. I shifted down and continued a little more cautiously toward home. Suddenly I hit a patch of bumps that didn’t stop. I could feel my truck losing control, and the rear end started to slide around. By the time I finally got traction, my truck was facing sideways, and I went tearing straight into the ditch.
I remember this almost like slow motion. I knew I was going off the road, and I knew that I was heading straight for a fence post. The only thing that went through my head was to cry out for help. As my truck caught air over the ditch, I cried out loud, “Heavenly Father, help!”
I landed hard, but I did not roll as far into the post as I had anticipated. I was a little shaken but otherwise uninjured. My truck would not start, and it was good and stuck in mud and tall grass. I climbed out and walked back up to the road. I looked around, hoping by some chance that there would be a farmhouse in sight. Nothing. This was before the age of cell phones, so there I was a 16-year-old girl completely alone on an obscure road in northern Alberta.
I began to pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him which way I should start walking to find help. I chose a direction that I thought might be good and began to walk. I had only just started when I received the distinct impression to go back and wait. I reasoned in my head: Wait? I have never once seen another vehicle on this road! What in the world would I be waiting for? Nevertheless, I felt calm and peaceful and knew that was the right thing to do. I stood on the side of the road and waited. Not five minutes later I heard a vehicle in the distance. Please let them stop, I pleaded in my head to Heavenly Father. The truck came into my view, and I simply stood there as it slowed in front of me.
An older, traditionally dressed Russian man and woman got out of their truck and surveyed my situation. I was a little cautious and did not know exactly what to expect from this couple. The wife smiled warmly and said in her thick accent: “It looks like you need some help.”
Her husband moved to the back of their truck and started to hook up a towing hitch. While her husband was hard at work, the wife told me how funny this situation was to them. That morning they had both had the feeling that they would need their tow hitch today, so they had put it in the back of their truck. They had kept it there all day and not needed it. They were now on their way home for the night when her husband decided to turn off the main roads and take the more scenic drive. That is when they came across me. She laughed at the coincidence of it all, but I was filled with the Holy Ghost testifying to me of my Father in Heaven’s awareness and love for me.
Once my truck was released from the mud and grass, it quickly started up again. The Russian couple and I parted ways. I did not drive far before I was overcome with tears of gratitude. I know that the Lord has rescued me many times throughout my life, both physically and spiritually. I know that He was aware of my needs in advance in order to prepare this couple to come and help me. I also know it was the right thing to do to call out for His help as I was going off the road because He heard and answered my frantic prayer.
That the Lord has power enough to move mountains and part seas and yet still cares for little me enough to prompt an old Russian couple to come help me pull my truck out of the ditch is witness to me of God’s love and personal level at which He works.

For example, when Elder Neal A. Maxwell was an 18-year-old infantryman fighting on the island of Okinawa, he faced the most frightening night of his life. As enemy mortar shells began exploding ever closer to his foxhole, he knelt in the mud and pledged his life to the Lord if only he could be spared.

God answered his prayer. But soon afterward, days of hot, rainy weather turned Okinawa into a giant mud puddle. The supply trucks could seldom bring the soldiers food or water. They became unbearably thirsty. One historian said the only thing that saved those soldiers from thirst was coffee, boiled and hand carried from distant supply points. Neal wrote his parents a card, saying he was keeping all the commandments, but he wrote, “The coffee is tempting some times.”28 That wasn’t about the smell. He was constantly thirsty, but he wouldn’t drink the coffee. He had committed otherwise. He did find a way to get just a little water. He said he caught rainwater in his helmet to bless his sacrament each week. Young Neal Maxwell knew that God had heard him, and he showed his gratitude by sacrifice. His disciple’s journey gained traction in the mud of Okinawa.

One of the biggest adjustments to life as a missionary is having a companion with you all the time. He or she may come from a different country, speak a different language, or have a different perspective on doing missionary work together. Missionaries have to learn to be comfortable spending so much time with someone else. And they have to learn how to teach together. Elder Juilfs recalls, “We had one lesson that was really rough. We had different ideas and were going against each other. But we learned how important it is to teach as a companionship and let ideas flow.”

My younger brother, my dad, and I planned a camping trip that would begin the day before my 13th birthday. It was a great way to spend a birthday.
We went camping at Duck Fork Reservoir and had taken our two horses with us. Babe is white in color and extremely calm. Toast is brown and exactly the opposite in personality. We were all enjoying being in the mountains, except Toast. He would not settle down and kept Dad up all night.
We tied Toast to a log on a long rope to graze. We let Babe loose with a bell around her neck. Horses have strong herd instincts and usually stay close to each other. While we were cooking breakfast, Babe wandered where Toast couldn’t see her. He started running, dragging the log behind him. We caught a glimpse of Babe heading down the canyon. My dad and I went to catch her, hoping Toast was nearby. Half a mile later, Babe turned and was heading back to camp when the hail started. I was dressed in just jeans and a T-shirt and was soon drenched.
Dad beat me back to camp, and when I got there, he was saddling Babe to go look for Toast. As my brother, Allen, and I watched Dad ride away, I thought of the log Toast was dragging and how many ways he could kill or hurt himself. I had joined the Church two years before with my mother, sister, and brother. At that moment, I knew we needed God’s help. I stood in the rain and prayed that we would find Toast alive and well. Then I went into the tent, crawled into my sleeping bag, and tried to get warm.
Dad came back in an hour. He hadn’t found Toast. I was getting nervous sitting around, so Allen and I went for a walk. We looked up and saw Dad walking toward us. I could tell by his face that the news was bad.
“He’s dead,” Dad said, forlornly.
“Where?” I asked.
“Downstream.”
When we got to the place where Toast lay, tears made my eyes warm. He was soaking wet, lying on his side in the middle of the stream. Then a shiver shook his whole body, and he slowly raised his head. He was alive! A smile crept across my face.
Toast had been cut deeply by the rope and large patches of skin had been torn off his back legs. The cold stream water had stopped most of the bleeding, but he had hypothermia. We untangled Toast, but he couldn’t stand up. We tried to drag him out of the stream, but we were no match for a thousand-pound horse. I tied a rope to Babe, and Dad tied the other end to Toast’s halter. Dad pushed on Toast, and I dragged Babe. Finally, with much effort, Toast stood up.
We headed to camp where we put blankets on Toast. We gave him warm water and hot mash for the hypothermia. Even though he was hurt, Toast was alive. For a few moments, I hid behind the horse trailer and sobbed out a prayer of thanks.
We decided to wait until morning to try to get him down the canyon and to the vet. We were afraid he would collapse in the trailer, and we would not be able to get him up. Allen asked Dad if we should say a prayer. We bowed our heads and gave thanks for prayers already answered.
Toast is healing. The vet says he should heal completely, but it will take a long time. I learned that, although Heavenly Father did not answer our prayers in exactly the way we wanted him to, he did answer our prayers and is still answering them.

When I was 17, Sabrina and I went to the same boarding school in Uruguay. I was going through a difficult time and didn’t want to have anything to do with anybody. But I did make a few friends.
Sabrina in particular stood out. She was nice to everyone. She invited me to play volleyball at her church, and she smiled even when I made excuses not to go. As I felt more comfortable with her, I thought maybe I should go.
Then one day I was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis. After surgery, I couldn’t go to school for 15 days. When I returned, Sabrina wasn’t there. She had moved back home. School wasn’t the same without her, so I wrote her a letter.
I asked her to forgive me for not playing volleyball. I told her that I’d always felt good around her and that I missed her.
Soon I received a letter and a package. In the letter, Sabrina told me she was happy that I’d written to her. She also told me about a tragic bus accident in which several people she knew had been killed. Then she wrote something that would change my life:
“We should always be at peace with God, because we never know when He will call us to His presence. Please read the book I sent with this letter. Ask God if it is true.”
In the package was the Book of Mormon. I started reading and I did ask if it was true. I felt so wonderful I thought my heart would burst. I’d never felt that way before. I went to church and started meeting with the missionaries. Soon I became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That was 15 years ago. Today I still have a firm testimony. Thank you, Sabrina, for inviting me to play volleyball. Even though I never did come to play, your example helped to bring me to Jesus Christ.

Because of construction, over 2,000 Muslims in Ghana didn’t have a place to celebrate their religious holidays in 2022. Leaders of the Takoradi Ghana Stake let them worship on the grounds of the stake center. Top: Brother Emmanuel Botwe (left) helped coordinate between the two groups.

That blessed tradition continues today in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Take, for example, the generous Saints of Ghana. Because of construction, local Muslims didn’t have a place where large groups could gather for worship during some of 2022. In April of that year, Latter-day Saints graciously allowed 2,000 followers of Islam to use the Takoradi Ghana Stake center for Ramadan meals and prayers. Two months later, Latter-day Saint leaders welcomed the group as they celebrated Eid al-Adha. These are two of Islam’s biggest holidays.6

Our Muslim friends were grateful. “We are all brothers and sisters. We are from one heritage,” said the local Muslims’ chief imam, Alhaji Mohammad Awal, alluding to Abraham’s sons Ishmael and Isaac.7

Emmanuel Botwe, called to lead communication in the Takoradi Ghana Stake, said he has cultivated relationships with other faiths in the area since 2018. He has invited them in to play football and attend a religious symposium, stake conferences, and the dedication of a new meetinghouse.

“We all have to respect and care for each other regardless of our differences,” Brother Botwe said. “That has prompted me to reach out—especially to our Muslim brothers.” Muslims make up only 19 percent of Ghana, a predominantly Christian country. “We are all sons and daughters of our Father,” he continued, “so we need to see eye to eye with them.”

Brother Botwe’s outreach balances kindness with principle. Muslims traditionally celebrate Eid al-Adha by sacrificing an animal such as a ram or goat. They do this in memory of God allowing Abraham to sacrifice a ram instead of his son Isaac.

“We told [our Muslim friends] that it’s not possible for them to slaughter the ram at our church premises. We explained our belief that the ultimate sacrifice has been done by the Almighty. And they respected our wish,” Brother Botwe said. “After the service, they moved to the mosque, where the sacrifice was done by the chief imam.”

For Brother Botwe’s kindness, the chief imam gifted him some of the ram meat. Brother Botwe graciously accepted.

“When you start by respecting their values and beliefs, respecting them for who they are—and not condemning them, not belittling them, even if you disagree with them—mutual respect will be there,” Brother Botwe said.

I have seen evidence of that miracle in the lives of His servants. I saw it a few weeks ago in the living room of a faithful priesthood holder.
I had known him as a deacon, a father, a bishop, and a member of a stake presidency. I had observed for decades his diligence in serving God’s children with his priesthood.
His family was gathered around him in his living room. He was smiling, dressed in a white shirt, suit, and tie. I was surprised, since I was there because I had been told that he was in the midst of painful medical treatments that had not yet cured him.
Yet he had greeted me as he must have greeted hundreds of other visitors over a lifetime of priesthood service, smiling. I had come to help him in the trials he faced, but as so often happens in priesthood service, I was helped and I learned.
We sat and chatted pleasantly. He told me how his father had tended to my mother as she approached death. I had not known that. I realized then that he had learned as a boy from his diligent priesthood father how to give succor. That thought made me grateful for the times I had taken my little boys with me on priesthood visits to comfort and bless.
After a few minutes, he asked quietly, “Would it be appropriate to ask if you could give me a blessing?” His former stake president, with whom he had served for years, anointed his head with oil consecrated by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
As I sealed the blessing, I was taught by the Holy Ghost at least part of what the Lord had already done for this faithful priesthood holder. He was clean, his sins washed away. His nature had been changed to want what the Savior wanted. He had no fear of death. The desire of his heart was to live to give service to his family and to others of Heavenly Father’s children who needed him.
I walked out into the night grateful to have witnessed the Lord’s kindness to His unfailingly diligent priesthood servants. He changes their hearts to want what He wants and to act as He would act.

Let me share with you a time of waiting upon the Lord in our family. We asked our teenage children to be home by 9:30 on a Saturday night. There would be an envelope waiting. One of the children read aloud, over the signature of the First Presidency, a mission call for our family. Suddenly everything changed—the future of the football team, the dance company, violin and piano lessons, lawn jobs, friends, and dreams. There were tears.

We went from room to room that night wiping wet cheeks and rubbing backs. In our seventeen-year-old son’s room we found him ramrod straight on the edge of his bed looking across to his bulletin board, where there were pictures of his football team, his brother on a mission, his family, the prophet, and Jesus Christ.

By morning all eyes were dry, and sitting on the second row in sacrament meeting, we sang, “I’ll go where [and when and how and why] you want me to go, dear Lord.” 27 We waited to find out where that would be. We waited as we put our lives in order, shifted vision, adjusted expectations, and squared our shoulders. We watched through each new step, through the living of it, and through what was hard and what was wonderful, until years later each child, in his or her own way, said, “Everything that is good in our lives is because we served.”

Being alone in living the gospel did not break down his faith. When he determined to serve a mission, he was willing to give up the jujitsu practices and competitions he loved—something that had been part of his life from childhood—to work and save money for a mission. Jujitsu, he says, was an art form for him. “I felt like a painter painting a picture when I practiced.” But working left him no time to practice.
Before leaving his hometown of Mystowice to serve as a missionary, Elder Tomaszewski left a challenge for his younger brother Patryk, who was also deeply involved in jujitsu. “If you want to find out why I’m doing this, why I’m giving up my sport, read the Book of Mormon and pray about it.”
And what has been his best day as a missionary?
The day he learned that his younger brother had taken his challenge to read and pray about the Book of Mormon. Patryk Tomaszewski also received a testimony. He was baptized in August 2004.
Now there are two Tomaszewskis to share the joy of the gospel.

A girl in my school is in first grade like me. She wears thick glasses and sometimes has trouble doing simple things at school. She has to have someone help to get her lunch.
One day when I was walking into the girls’ rest room, I heard a group of girls laughing. They were laughing at this girl and making fun of her. I turned away and didn’t laugh. I hope I was being a good example to the girls who were laughing. I know we should be kind to everyone, especially to those who need special help.

I began preparing for full-time missionary service when I was five years old. I remember going to church with my grandparents because my mom was not active and my dad wasn’t a member. One Sunday I came home and told my mom, “Next Sunday you have to go with me to church. My friend Juanito takes his mom and dad, and I don’t, so my friends are going to start thinking I don’t have a mom and dad.”
Well, when Sunday came, I had forgotten about it, and Mom wasn’t about to remind me. When she took me to my grandparents’ so they could take me to church, I reminded her that she said I could take her with me. She made some excuse and said she couldn’t go with me that Sunday—but maybe next Sunday. I know she said that so I wouldn’t bother her, and she probably figured I’d forget about it. But when Saturday came around, I reminded her that she had to go to church with me. I helped her pick out a nice dress to wear and took her to church that Sunday. She’s been going with me ever since.

Still, with all the other pressures I had, Christmas that year found me in anything but a joyous mood. That Christmas Eve, I sat alone near the Christmas tree in my living room trying in vain to put together a train set for my little boy. I could see the heavy snow falling outside, and suddenly a terrible aching filled my heart. I felt alone. I thought I had been doing better, but tonight, with my husband halfway around the world, my burdens overwhelmed me. Seeing Grandma slipping away, caring for the little ones, putting up with the weather, feeding the furnace, struggling with the train—it all seemed more than I could bear. I bowed my head and tearfully cast my burdens on the Lord.
As I knelt there, I heard a knock at my door. It was late, and I wondered who on earth it could be. I opened the door to find three of my Sunday School boys standing there, covered with snow. They had been sledding and had seen my light and decided to stop in to wish me a Merry Christmas. I invited them in and filled them up with hot chocolate and pie.
Soon they had the train set together, and we finished wrapping the Christmas presents. Everything looked beautiful. Each boy hugged me, thanked me for being such a good teacher and friend, and wished me Merry Christmas before they left. I stood watching them go under the streetlights. Suddenly my burdens felt lighter, and that night I knelt to thank Heavenly Father for sending them to me.